The Letters of Timothy
by VGWrighte
Summary: We always think about Patrick's letters. But Timothy has girl problems. Turner family adorableness. Ch3 is actually up now, Ch2 is no longer duplicated.
1. The First Letter of Timothy

The Letters of Timothy

Chapter One: The First Letter of Timothy

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

\- - Turner Residence, February 1963 - -

Patrick was certainly enjoying the scene of domestic bliss that surrounded him. His wife and daughter were sitting at the dining room table, drawing. Drawing and giggling. He sat on the sofa with his infant son settled in to the crook of his arm, reading the latest copy of The Lancet. The only thing missing was his older son, who was out doing whatever it was young men did nowadays.

Young men and young women. Patrick had it on good authority that Timothy was walking out with Caroline Gillespie.

A fire burned in their fireplace, bathing the room with warmth; a welcome respite to the cold they still had yet to become accustomed to.

Patrick looked down at Teddy, who yawned and cuddled closer. Patrick smiled and stuck two fingers beneath the boy's collar, making sure he was warm enough, but not too warm. Satisfied with the temperature of his skin, Patrick turned back to his reading.

With a great deal of suddenness, the front door opened, a cold gust blew in, and the door was quickly slammed shut.

Teddy was startled by the noise and looked up at Patrick, which an expression that asked whether or not he should burst into tears. Patrick smiled and rubbed Teddy's leg, calming him.

Tim stomped into the living room, sans coat and boots.

"I thought you were out with Caroline," Shelagh asked.

"Well, I'm not," Tim snapped.

"Tim," Patrick used his tone to warn his son.

"What happened?"

"She packed me in!"

"What?" "Why?" he and his wife exclaimed.

Tim's face contorted in anger and confusion. "Because of Angela!" He stormed out of the room.

There was a stunned silence in the room for a moment, a moment which Teddy took the opportunity to commence wailing. Shelagh stood to follow Timothy.

Patrick stood as well. He offered her the baby. "You take this one, I'll take that one." He went up to his son's room, pausing outside for just a moment. He wanted to give the boy a little time. He knocked softly and entered the room, finding his son sitting at his desk, staring at the ceiling.

"May I sit down?"

"I'm sorry for shouting," he said.

Patrick sat on the edge of the bed. "If your mother and I rely on you too much with your siblings, you can tell me. We'll work something out."

Timothy shook his head. "No, that's not it. I love caring for them. And I want them to have more time with family than I did."

Patrick tilted his head to the side sympathetically. "Oh, Tim. I'm sorry."

Timothy shook his head. "I'm not. It was hard for me to be by myself, but that's what got us Mum." He smiled softly.

Patrick smiled back at his son. "Would you like to talk about what happened with Caroline, then?"

Timothy was silent, gathering his thoughts. "We were studying at her flat. It was fine. She's very good at maths."

Patrick listened patiently, allowing his son to get to the matter at hand in his own time.

"But her little sister and brothers started getting rowdy," he paused to look back at Patrick. "You know she has 3 little brothers?" Patrick nodded. "I recommended we go to the surgery. It's quiet there, after hours." Tim took a deep breath. "We saw Nurse Mount when we arrived and I told her we would be in your office. And we continued with our homework. I didn't notice anything was different."

"Different than what?"

"How it usually is."

Patrick still didn't understand, but felt that his interruption had not been helpful.

"After a while, Nurse Mount popped in and told us she was leaving, but would be back in a few hours if anyone needed anything. She reminded us to call Nonnatus if anything happened." Tim's mouth contorted in discomfort. "That's when we started kissing."

Patrick couldn't help his eyebrows shoot up. He schooled them quickly. He was almost afraid of where this was going, his mind racing through the multitude of horrible possibilities. He did have the brief thought that his son and grandson would be a year apart, but immediately pushed the thought aside. Shelagh was too young to be a grandmother. He cleared his throat. "So, what happened."

"Nothing," Timothy said.

The silence loomed for a moment. Timothy turned in his chair to face his father, suddenly looking very mature indeed. "She wanted to . . . But I didn't . . . And I tried to tell her why, but she wouldn't listen." He fumed for a second. She just picked up her things, said that I didn't love her, that she never wanted to see me again and she stormed out." Timothy looked at his shoes for a second. "I tried to explain to her why, but she left too quickly."

Timothy's shoulders slumped, and he took something off his desk to keep his hands busy, suddenly looking like the forlorn child he was.

Patrick was relieved, but didn't let on. "What did you try to tell her?"

"That the only thing I could think of was Angela."

Patrick's brow furrowed, he didn't follow.

"I am the same age as her mother was when she was born."

Patrick thought this might be the first time Tim referred to someone other than Shelagh as Angela's mother.

"And we know nothing about her father."

Patrick was sure this was the first time they had thought about Angela's father.

"We don't even know if her dad wanted her." He paused. "And I kept thinking, what if Caroline got pregnant? Would she want a baby? Would her parents let her keep it? Would either of us have a say?"

Patrick considered it for a moment. What would they do? He didn't have to think very long, he knew the answer. "Your mother and I will do whatever it takes. If you wanted to keep the baby, we would support you. If Caroline's parents didn't, we would either take her in or adopt the baby ourselves; if you wanted us to." Patrick watched the expression of relief come over Tim's face.

"You're right, Tim. Adoption is a wonderful thing, but it can be very painful. And marrying at your age isn't ideal either; but if she wanted to keep the baby, it's better than the alternative."

Tim smirked. "It's not like I have any plans."

Patrick smiled. "Isn't that what we're talking about? Things happening without plans?"

Tim ducked his head for a second, slightly embarrassed. "Mum used to be a nun. I have to keep on my best behavior so as not to spoil her reputation."

Patrick chuckled and the room fell silent again.

"What should I do about Caroline?" Tim finally asked.

"Why don't you write her a letter?"

Timothy gave his father an incredulous look.

"Writing a heart-felt letter to a girl explaining yourself goes a long way. It shows them that you're thoughtful and caring: things girls love."

Tim smirked.

"And you can give her the family history, which will make her feel like you're trusting her with some important family details; they like that too." Patrick paused, thinking of how to admit to his son that he wrote countless love-letters to a nun. "When I wrote to your mum in the sanatorium, I told her about your first mum, and our marriage. And her sickness, and what it was like for the two of us after she died. I told her that seeing her often made days better, and that seeing the two of you together made me happier than I had been in a long time. And I told her she would always have a place here, regardless of the choice she made." Patrick smiled at his son, "I think they were successful, don't you?"

"Maybe," Timothy grinned at Patrick. "I'm the one who sent her a butterfly."

\- - End Chapter One - -


	2. The Third Letter of Timothy

The Letters of Timothy

Chapter Two: The Third Letter of Timothy

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

\- - Gillespie Residence, February 1963 - -

"Caroline," her mother called, "Someone sent you a letter."

Caroline put down her book and went to the kitchen to retrieve it, her mother's tone made her know exactly whom the letter was from. She recognized the handwriting immediately, confirming her suspicions: Tim. She must've made a face.

"Don't you want to open it? It's from Timothy."

Caroline hadn't told her mother that she had sent Tim packing. Her mother wouldn't've exactly approved of her reasoning. "No, I do," she insisted.

"You should have him over for supper again."

"I don't know, Mum," Caroline tried to think how to stop this particular line of questioning. She escaped toward her bedroom, "I'm going to read my letter."

"Very well, Dear," her mother said in an insufferable mothering tone. Caroline heard her Mum mutter to herself as she left, "That Timothy is such a sweet boy."

Caroline rolled her eyes. Too sweet. She dropped the letter on her bedside table, and flopped down on the bed, returning to her book. However, she couldn't concentrate.

The letter was calling to her.

With a heavy sigh, Caroline dropped her book and opened the letter.

 _Dear Caroline,_

 _I fully realize that you didn't have to start reading this letter and that you may stop at any time, so I thank you for giving me the chance to explain myself._

 _There are times, when I'm with you, that my ability to use words of meaning and express thoughts of consequence is simply non-existent. Writing, however, is a bit easier. I have a little more time to think, and while the image of your face is engrained in my mind, it's not distracting me as it so often does._

Caroline blushed at that. "Words of meaning" indeed.

 _I want to tell you about my family. Perhaps, if I use the correct words, you'll understand why I treated you the way I did. Perhaps you'll understand why I believe as I do, and why I make the choices I make._

 _I've told you before that my mum isn't my birth mum. She's my step-mother. I met her when I was very small. As a small child, I knew her as one of the nuns. I don't remember a time when I didn't know the nuns, but I do remember a time when I did not know her specifically. I don't remember "meeting her." One day she had no name in my mind other than "Sister," and another day she had a name and an identity._

 _And then my mother died._

 _There was an odd emptiness in the house. Dad was normal, too normal. I didn't realize it at the time, but he was attempting to carry on for my sake. Stiff upper-lip, and all that. I thought perhaps he didn't love her like I had. Like I still did. Like I still do._

 _Then, one day, I scraped my elbow at school. It was a Tuesday, so they sent me to the Anti-Natal Clinic to be seen by my father. As usual, he was busy. However, Sister Bernadette spoke kind words to me and treated my wound. She must've been able to tell how disappointed I was in my father's lack of attention. She told me about how things were when she lost her mother. She had been a little younger than I was, but had a younger brother that she took responsibility for. She was very comforting. I think that was when I started to love her._

 _A short time later, she was diagnosed with tuberculosis. By my father. I didn't know, at the time, that he loved her. And, she him. Ten year old boys don't notice such things. But I prayed to God every night that she would get better, and that He wouldn't take her from me._

 _She did get better. When she got out of the hospital, she was no longer a nun. She and my father were married a short time later; the wedding postponed due to my bought with polio, but that's a tale for another letter._

 _Living up to the ideals that she has taught me are incredibly important. I simply cannot stand the thought of disappointing her. I cannot fathom tarnishing her reputation; which, while there was certainly talk when she married my father, is impeccable._

 _But there's another part to this story._

 _Not many people know that my sister, Angela, is adopted. It's not a secret, by any means. Angela knows she is adopted, but we don't proclaim it as we walk up and down the market street._

 _Shortly after their marriage, my mother received a diagnosis. The tuberculosis had left scar tissue on many of her pelvic organs and it was unlikely ("beyond hope" was the words my parents used at the time) that she would ever have a baby. After much discussion, and my approval, we decided to adopt._

 _Angela's birth mother was a sixteen-year-old whose parents wouldn't allow her to keep her baby. We know nothing about her biological father._

 _Our first Christmas with Angela, my father went to a Mother and Baby Home in the countryside where the nurses from Nonnatus were helping. I tagged along. I was old enough to understand why those girls were there, and exactly what was going to happen to them and their babies. I remember one of them had burst a blood vessel in her eye from crying after they took her baby. She and her boyfriend had wanted to get married and keep the child, but their parents forbade it. I remember asking my father if Angela came from a place like that. He told me he didn't know, but that she had come from girls like those._

 _I began to understand how our joy was brought by the greatest sorrow of a girl not much older than myself. A girl no older than I am now._

 _Then we got our miracle. My baby brother, Edward._

 _I put on a big act with my parents about how I don't want to know any details and how they are embarrassing. But the truth is, I can't wait to have what they have._

 _I don't know if I believe in soul-mates._

 _But I believe that God brought Mum to Dad and me. And I believe that he brought us Angela and Teddy._

 _I hope that what I've written here makes sense. I hope that you understand what I'm trying to explain. I hope that you can understand why I make the choices that I make._

 _And I hope that we can resume our weekly study appointments. Along the same vein, you are cordially (Mum insisted "cordially") invited to The Turner Residence on Thursday evening for a family meal._

 _I hope that you will attend._

 _Yours, Timothy._

Caroline wasn't sure exactly when she started crying. She had always seen Timothy as mature, but she never knew why. She smirked to herself, her mother was right, he was sweet.

Caroline wiped her eyes, looked at her face in her mirror, ensuring it wasn't too red or splotchy and when to the kitchen to ask her mother if she could have dinner with the Turners on Thursday.

\- - End Chapter Two - -


	3. The Second Letter of Timothy

The Letters of Timothy

Chapter Three: The Second Letter of Timothy

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

\- - Turner Residence, The Next Thursday - -

Shelagh peeked around the corner of the kitchen doorway to look into the family room where her husband and two youngest children were. She bit her lip to contain her grin.

Patrick was presently playing nurse to Angela, who was examining her baby brother. She had her father's stethoscope around her neck, and was attempting to examine Teddy's throat, but he was preoccupied gnawing on the tongue depressor.

Shelagh turned back to preparing dinner, thinking to herself how tightly Angela had her father wrapped around her smallest finger. It had scarcely been 10 minutes ago that Patrick had told Angela they weren't going to give Teddy a check-up. Angela must have asked a second time, whilst batting her eyes.

The sound of the door and a gust of cold signaled Timothy's arrival. Shelagh left dinner simmering and followed her son into the family room. Again, she had to bite her lip; Timothy was asking to borrow one of Patrick's ties.

"Hello, Dear," she said, passing him and rescuing Teddy from further prodding by Angela. The little girl scowled momentarily, but resuming her doctoring on her doll, instead.

Patrick smiled and Timothy and stood, gesturing towards the master bedroom. "Let's see if we can fine one that's . . . appropriate," Patrick turned back and smirked at Shelagh.

She was going to ruin her lipstick if she kept biting her lip so.

A few moments later, they returned. Timothy was wearing one of Patrick's ties and had changed into his suit jacket. With a quick word of farewell, he left.

Patrick resumed his place on the sofa, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Seems as if the old Turner Letter Writing has done it again."

"Done what, Daddy?" Angela asked.

"Won their way into a woman's heart."

Shelagh chuckled.

"What do you mean?" Angela asked again.

Patrick took her hands and kissed the backs of them. "Before Mummy and I were married, I wrote her many letters to convince her to marry me."

"Did they work?" she asked.

Shelagh laughed. Bless her heart. Before Patrick could respond, Shelagh did, "Almost. I didn't agree until Timothy asked me."

\- - - The End - - -


End file.
